


best (fake) smile

by Reiaji



Series: best (fake) smile [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien hits the low road running, But make no mistake: this is sappy self-indulgent Adrienette trash, F/M, Or one (1) salty boi, Post-Episode: s03 Caméléon | Chameleon, Post-Episode: s03 Oni-Chan | Oni-Chan, Protective Adrien Agreste, Protective Alya Césaire, Snuck my Ladrien agenda in there a hot minute, Who would win: a pathological liar with good PR capable of impressing a literal supervillain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-09 04:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18909379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiaji/pseuds/Reiaji
Summary: After Gabriel arranges for Lila to be his date at Paris Fashion Week, Adrien rights a wrong as best he knows how: with a little bit of sweetness, a little bit of subtlety, and a lot of social media magic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've always thought that living with toxic parents makes you good at lying in a particular way, and I've never read a salt fic where Adrien exposes Lila while remaining perfectly pleasant and non-confrontational. Ergo, this. 
> 
> My multichapter fic will be back to updating soon! Just had to knock this out while it was fresh.

It was a bright, beautiful morning in the most beautiful city in the world, and Adrien Agreste was _fucking furious._

Planted in front of the doors to Collège Françoise Dupont like a particularly well-coiffed theme park statue, he returned each of his classmates' greetings with a tight nod and an even tighter grin. Nino had been waiting for him when his car pulled up to the curb, but he'd asked his friend to go on alone. One look at Adrien and his stitched-on smile, and the other boy had backed away slowly, as though arguing might provoke him to charge like a bull at the scent of a crimson cape.

The bell for homeroom had come and gone by the time Marinette came tearing up the sidewalk, an assortment of items spilling from her backpack as she spluttered apologies to passerby.

When she saw him, she froze—face red, mouth open, pupils shrinking to pinpricks—but Adrien was already hurtling down the steps.

"Hey, Marinette. I know you’re late, but can I talk to you for a second?”

"Wuh," she said faintly. "Sure—s-sure, Adrien, what can I do you for, I mean, what can I do for y—"

"I have to tell you something before you hear it from the rest of our class.” Adrien leaned a fraction closer, distantly registering the flush across her cheeks. “Père is making me take Lila to the gala next week."

She blinked, and then her expression flattened. Dropping her gaze to the concrete pavement, she knelt, scrabbling for her lost possessions. Adrien bent to help her, then slowly retracted his fingers as Marinette skidded away from him and rocketed to her feet. 

"That Fashion Week party in the 1st arrondissement?" 

"You know about it?"

"Yeah," she muttered. "Since when does your dad even _like_ Lila?"

"Since that stunt she pulled with Kagami,” he replied flatly. “They had a heart to heart at my house, _apparently._ I guess he decided it was fine for her to stick around.”

"Okay, um. Okay. Wow.” Marinette balanced her bag on one knee and unceremoniously stuffed her belongings into it—pencils, homework, books, phone, and a monogrammed notebook she quickly shoved out of sight. “We are talking about the same Lila, right? The one that broke into your house and tried to _drop you off the Eiffel Tower_?”

“I don’t know what he’s thinking, Marinette. I’m sorry.” 

That was a lie, at least in part. Adrien could predict his father’s changes of mind the way he could smell a storm before it blackened the horizon. If he decided something, then Gabriel decided against it. It happened with the consistency of clockwork, and arguing the point with the back of his father’s head was rarely worth his wasted breath.

Marinette looked back at him with genuine sympathy, her abused backpack clutched to her chest. 

“Well,” she mumbled, “thanks for telling me, anyway.”

"I just needed you to know that it wasn’t my idea.” Pausing, Adrien studied her more closely. Marinette looked precisely as adorable as always, marshmallow pink from head to toe in a cable-knit sweater and matching flats. But her eyes were ringed with bruise-colored shadows, visible even through her concealer, and her shoulders drooped in a tiny slump as she considered the climb to the doors above them. 

“I’m more worried about how you’re doing,” he said. “How did it go, talking to Alya?”

A pause. Marinette fidgeted restlessly, scuffing her shoe across a crack in the sidewalk. 

“Lila threatened me in the bathroom about two months ago," she said at last. "I told Alya, and it finally got a reaction out of her. She knows I wouldn't make up a story like that."

The questions _she did **what?**_ and _this was **when?**_ and _Marinette, what the actual **fuck?**_ came surging to the forefront of Adrien’s consciousness, but he bit them back for a better time, nausea welling in the pit of his stomach.

"Okay," he said slowly. "Okay, that's good."

"She said she believed me and that she’d keep her distance from Lila, but now I kind of feel like I shouldn’t have brought it up at all." Marinette looked away, not meeting his eyes. "I don't want to be the reason Alya becomes an outcast.”

A raw canker swelled inside him at the sight of Marinette so utterly _diminished._ They might not have been as close as he'd have liked, but his fondness for her ran bone deep. Her bright laugh and nervous smile were the illuminating spark in his softer memories, and their absence made his stomach _twist_ , like a snake biting down on the end of its own tail.

“It’s really been that bad?” he asked stupidly. 

When Marinette didn't respond, he reached for her shoulder, smiling tentatively as her head snapped up and her face turned the color of a ripe tomato.

“It’s fine, Adrien. I've dealt with worse.” She spoke too quietly to attribute to shyness. "I just wish that I knew it was actually going to get better. I mean—"

She sighed, shoulders hunched as she made herself small—and Adrien _hated_ it.

"I-I mean, no one could ever dislike _you._ You’re always so nice to everyone, you know? But I didn't even have friends in class before you and Alya enrolled this year. And I’ve known most of our classmates since we were kids." Her voice dropped until she was barely audible. "It’s not that I need them to _do_ something for me. I just didn't think that they'd drop me like garbage the second Lila arrived on the scene.”

Adrien stared at her in disbelief, mouth working around soundless words.

The truth was, he'd noticed this new level of absence. But Marinette had always been prone to canceling plans, and she seemed her usual cheerful self with him and Alya and Nino at lunch. It was only amongst themselves that they found themselves wondering, repeating excuses well-worn with use:

_I think she’s doing extra credit? To make up for missed classes._  
_She said she was reworking her portfolio. Some contest she wants to do._  
_Her parents asked her to help out after school._  
_She’s busy, Adrien._  
_She told me she’s busy._

It seemed that none of them _knew_ what was happening to Marinette. Nobody knew where she went when she left school, vanishing out the door and down the central steps before the rest of them could finish clearing their desks. Nobody had asked why she’d stopped attending their outings to the movies or the park or the public pool. Nobody had noticed that she barely spoke in class.

And they were supposed to be her _friends._ How much worse must it be from the others? From those with no reason _not_ to believe Lila when she called her a bully, an airhead, a _liar?_

As Marinette turned away with a tiny “see you later” and trudged up the steps towards the oaken doors, a kernel of shame extended its roots through the bitter mire in Adrien’s gut.

The time for smiling through Lila’s advances had passed. The time for treating her with _kindness_ had passed. The time for hoping she’d show a _glimmer_ of remorse towards Nathalie or Kagami or Ladybug or Marinette—or hell, towards _him_ , the boy she supposedly loved, but had lied to so often and in so many ways he could scarcely untangle the first from the last—had well and truly flown.

Lila Rossi wanted to go out?

Oh, please. He’d _take her out._

  


* * *

  


“If you’re going to try to talk me out of it, Plagg, now’s the time.”

“Talk you out of what? The first good idea you’ve had in months?” Plagg’s voice drifted from his top dresser drawer, where he was currently in the process of scrounging for food and wreaking bloody havoc on Adrien’s clean socks. “Oh, no, kitten, I’m _dying_ to see this. The only way you’re not going through with it is if you pry the satisfaction from my cold, dead claws.”

“Look,” Adrien muttered, “I know that it’s petty.”

“This from the kid that got a guy akumatized by lying about being Ladybug’s boyfriend. _That_ wasn’t petty, but I guess _this_ is.”

Adrien glared at himself in the mirror and tightened his tie with sweaty fingers. His nose itched, but he couldn’t scratch it for fear of rubbing off his foundation. Makeup was hell. Suits were hell. Adrien’s idea of a rollicking good time involved breaking bones and leaping off buildings, not drinking Schweppes from a fancy glass and talking to racists four times his age.

“You don't think I'm making a mistake?” he asked. 

“Greater good, blah blah; just desserts, blah blah; protecting your girlfriend, blah blah blah. The long and short of it is, we hate Lila’s guts. Trust me on this one, it’s gonna be fun.”

Fixing his reflection—his perfumed, airbrushed, perfectly styled reflection—with a critical eye, Adrien stepped back and tousled his hair, flicking a few stray strands across his forehead. 

“We’re not doing this for _fun_ , Plagg. We’re doing this for _justice._ ”

“But we’re still gonna crush her like a soda can, right? Good. Great. Glad we’re on the same page.” Polishing off the last of his snack, Plagg zipped into Adrien’s collar and hid himself in his inside breast pocket. “A little bit of spine looks good on you, kitten. Maybe that girl you’re so smitten with will think so, too.”

“I’m not smitten with Marinette,” said Adrien patiently.

“I didn’t mention any names.” Despite the dampening effect of Adrien’s jacket, Plagg’s voice was unmistakably smug. “But of course, cataclysming Lila’s credibility in public has nothing whatsoever to do with _Marinette._ ”

“Shut up."

It was in no way a denial, and both of them knew it. But Gorilla was already waiting at the curb with the car, and Nathalie had to brief him before he stepped out the door. Sparing one last glance at the mirror in his closet, Adrien grabbed his phone from the top of his dresser and hurried into the upstairs hallway. 

Lucky for him, justice looked just as good in black tie as it did in black leather, and he was five minutes flat to being fashionably late.

  


* * *

  


The party started as parties usually did: in a pleasant reverie of lights and laughter, tinkling glasses and tittering conversation, men and women mingling like hummingbirds on an open floor the size of a stadium. 

His father—flawlessly dressed in a crimson vest and a cream-colored suit—excused himself soon after they arrived, disappearing into a closed boardroom with Nathalie close on his heels. The press, of course, was omnipresent as ever: news reporters, journalists, and a handful of revelers in nondescript dress who followed Adrien everywhere he went, smartphones blinking behind glasses of white wine. 

He could work with that. He always did. 

Adrien knew that he looked like he belonged there. He looked the way only a six-stylist team and a full face of makeup could make a person look, in his tailored vest and open collar and dumb little necktie like a leash around his throat. He looked like _money_ , and he looked like a _mark_ , and he looked like the _exact_ sort of mutton-brained idiot that would lap up a line as obvious as—

“Oh my god, that’s Alessandra Palazzi! I had no idea she’d be here herself, it’s usually her consultant who goes to these things. I wonder if she remembers me from my internship last summer.”

Lila was glued to Adrien’s right side, hands tucked comfortably into his elbow. There was nothing possessive about her touch or the polite distance between their bodies; but every so often she'd dance her nails up his arm, or rest her head against his shoulder as she giggled at something he said. The perfect thing to imply intimacy. The perfect image of a newly minted couple keeping their hands to themselves while the cameras were rolling.

It turned Adrien’s stomach, but he simply smiled, letting no sign of it show in his face. 

“That’s amazing, Lila! I had no idea that you were studying fashion. It must have been a challenge to do the work remotely.”

“Oh—yes.” Lila beamed back at him, her smile intact, though her grip tightened minutely around his upper arm. “It was pretty hard to sit in on the weekly meetings—because of time zones, you know. But the director was kind enough to make an exception after she reviewed my portfolio.”

“I’ve only worked with her as a model, but I know how high Madame Palazzi’s standards are.” Adrien nodded at the designer in question, raising his voice just enough to draw her attention. “Shall we go over there now? I’m sure your old mentor would love to catch up.”

“Ah—that’s okay, Adrien. It looks like she’s in the middle of another conversation, and I wouldn’t want to—”

“Madame Palazzi!” Tugging his arm free—gently enough for it to seem unintended—he crossed the room in long, confident strides, Lila skittering after him as the crowd parted ranks in surprise.

As Palazzi turned, a broad smile of recognition curving her brightly lipsticked mouth, Adrien let his own grin widen and draped an arm around Lila’s stiff shoulders.

“Why, Adrien! What a surprise and pleasure to see you here, young man.” Embracing him warmly, Palazzi planted a kiss on each of his cheeks before straightening to her full height. “How long has it been? Surely not a full year! I _must_ speak to Gabriel about clearing your schedule. You’re growing more and more handsome by the minute.”

“It’s so good to see you again, madame. I’m sure my father sends his regards.” With a megawatt smile, Adrien ushered Lila forward. “And you already know my _friend_ , Lila Rossi. She told me you loved her work last year.”

 _Deer: meet headlights._

The blank expression on Palazzi’s face was almost as priceless as the starburst of panic in Lila's eyes, her hands white-knuckled as they fisted into her dress. 

“I’m afraid not, Adrien,” Palazzi said delicately. “I don’t believe the two of us are acquainted.” 

“Oh—you wouldn’t remember me,” Lila interjected, with a loud, bright laugh that grated like a gunshot. “I did my internship remotely while travelling, and my health issues forced me to leave the program a few weeks in.”

It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. If Adrien was being frank with himself, he didn’t have the _best_ track record when it came to honesty—secret identity, superheroing, _blah blah_ his dad _blah blah_ —but at least he knew where to cut his losses. It was morbidly fascinating to watch Lila dig herself deeper with every word that fell from her mouth, now that she was up against a grown adult instead of starry-eyed schoolchildren without reputations to protect. 

_Why did you come home late yesterday, Adrien?_  
_What were you doing with your phone tracking turned off?_  
_My rules were clear. You know the consequences._

_Yes, père._

“A remote internship? Mademoiselle, you must be mistaken. What year and what cycle did you apply in?”

Before Lila could respond, Adrien turned towards her, infusing his voice with all the artificial sympathy he could muster.

“Oh, Lila, how awful. Why didn’t you tell me? I’d hate for your talents to go unseen because of a condition that you have no control over.” Slipping his phone from his pocket, he embarked on a marathon of one-handed typing. Lila gaped at the sleek device as though he'd whipped a pistol out of his briefs, but he continued blithely, pretending not to notice. “I’m going to send a public message to Madame Palazzi’s director of interns. I’m sure they still have your portfolio on file.”

“It’s alright, Adrien,” Lila squeaked. “Don’t go to the trouble on my behalf.”

“It’s no trouble at all. See, already sent.” Flipping his phone screen towards the two women, Adrien flashed his brightest grin. “I added a couple of the other designers I worked with last summer. If Madame Palazzi doesn’t have mentorship open, maybe one of my father’s colleagues will.”

Lila’s complexion went pale as chalk. Safely tucked out of sight inside his jacket, Plagg snickered against his chest.

  


* * *

  


“You don’t mind if we go and talk to Jagged, do you? Maybe you could introduce us personally. He’s my favorite performer, I’ve been his fan _forever_.” 

Lila’s mouth grew tighter and tighter, and Adrien could practically _see_ the mental gymnastics taking place behind her eyes. He blinked back at her, shining with innocence, exuding excitement from every pore. Finally, she caved, a watery smile straining her lips as her gaze flitted nervously around the spotlit hall.

“Of course, Adrien. But don’t be surprised if he doesn’t remember me on sight. It _has_ been a while, and I’m sure he meets lots of people in the course of a career like his.”

“Thank you _so much_ , Lila, I really owe you one.” 

And with that, Adrien whipped out his phone, flicking on his camera recorder as Lila blanched the color of an soft-boiled egg. 

“Hey everyone! It’s Adrien again, and I’m at Paris Fashion Week with my friend Lila Rossi.” He swivelled the camera to catch them both in the frame, waving at their invisible audience while Lila hastened to clamp her mouth shut. “Thanks to Lila, who rescued Jagged’s kitten from an airplane runway last year, I’m about to meet my number one musical inspiration! Say hi, Lila, you’re on stream.”

“Hi,” choked Lila, graduating to a color midway between white and sulfurous green.

Channeling Chat Noir to the best of his ability, Adrien winked and pivoted on his heel, holding his phone with the lens facing outwards as he made a beeline towards the nearest cluster of reporters.

“Adrien, wait.” Lila started after him frantically, her eyes fixed to the flashing cameras that hovered around Jagged like a cloud of electric fireflies. “It looks like he’s busy, maybe we can talk to him later—”

“There he is, guys. I think I’m gonna ask him to sign my forehead for me. Increases my net worth by at least five grand, am I right?” Adrien winked at the camera again. “I’m heading over now, so wish me luck! Excuse me, Mr. Stone!”

Jagged Stone lifted his head, kohl-lined eyes crinkling as Adrien joined him on the crimson carpet. His outfit was even more flamboyant than usual: purple jacket with silver epaulettes and matching studs stitched into the sleeves; skin-tight leather pants; and steel-toed combat boots liberally draped with chains.

 _Nice._ Maybe he could bribe Plagg into giving Chat ones like _that._

“Adrien, right? You’re Marinette’s school friend. I recognize you from those fashion posters she’s got in her room.”

“That’s me,” he said warmly. “Marinette and I are big fans of your music, Jagged. I loved her cover for your latest album.”

“Glad to hear it, kid. Anything specific I can do for you?”

“I’ll get a signature off you later, but for now, I thought you and Lila might like a chance to catch up.” Adrien turned and grinned over his shoulder, aiming his phone at where Lila stood frozen just inside the broken circle of cameras. “She told me all about how she rescued your kitten last year.”

“My what now?” 

“Your kitten. From an airplane runway? The blast of the engines gave her tinnitus.” 

“Well now, my condolences on your friend’s accident, but that can’t be right. I’ve never owned a cat in my life.” Jagged glanced at Lila, his eyes passing over her without recognition, before looking back at Adrien with a puzzled smile. “Love the little assholes, but I’m deathly allergic. And now I’ve got Fang, so it’s never gonna happen.”

Adrien paused just long enough to seem believable, making sure to inject a stutter into his voice as he spoke again. 

“O-oh, well, I must have misunderstood her. I’m sorry for assuming, Jagged. I thought you two knew each other, and I was so excited to finally meet you, and I begged her to—God, I must sound like some kind of idiot.”

Even without seeing his own face, he knew he looked as crushed as he sounded. It was, admittedly, a little bit embarrassing to be playing the fool on his own social media, but Lila wasn’t the _only_ one who could flash wounded eyes in front of a crowd. 

A _big_ crowd, if his climbing view count was any indication.

“It’s all good, kid. No skin off my back. I’m happy to meet both you and your classmate.” Noticing the blinking red dot on Adrien’s phone screen, Jagged struck a dramatic pose, grinning widely into the camera. “Any friend of Marinette’s is a friend of mine.”

Plastering a smile across her pale face, Lila let Adrien wrap an arm around her shoulder and pull her in for the umpteenth selfie of the night.

  


* * *

  


The last person on Adrien’s list was, undoubtedly, the most difficult to approach.

Not because he was getting _tired_ of this. Not because he was getting _bored._ He was having nothing less than the time of his _life_ leading his erstwhile stalker around by the nose, like a dancing bear on a digital leash.

But of all the shining ghosts he'd chased over the years—all the empty names and titles he'd courted at his father’s behest—Ladybug was the one person whose judgment Adrien _cared_ about. The one famous face whose continued good opinion he valued more highly than his weight in gold; whose every smile and spoken word he cradled to his chest like an infant flame. 

And _god,_ the way she was looking tonight—shining black hair pulled back to her nape to show off the miraculous gleaming in her ears; blue eyes bright behind her spotted mask; lips cherry-red with the faintest touch of lipstick—talking about _Lila Rossi_ was the last thing on Adrien’s mind. 

Apparently, Lila thought the same, because the instant she laid eyes on the Hero of Paris, she grabbed Adrien’s wrist and dug in her heels, trying to drag him in the opposite direction.

The abject fear that flooded her eyes could almost have stirred a flicker of pity, if not for the searing, sickening memory that swelled between his ribs like a calcified tumor. 

She’d _tricked_ him into leaving his lady. Tricked him as Chat Noir, just like she’d tricked him as Adrien. Convinced him that she was in danger just to distract him from his duties, when all the while it was _Ladybug_ who needed him; _Ladybug_ who was fighting Kagami; _Ladybug_ who could have been _fucking killed_ while her so-called partner was halfway across the city.

But _Adrien_ didn't know that, so he merely blinked at Lila in confusion, turning blindly in Ladybug’s direction. As though he was any more capable of failing to notice her than he was of unscrewing his head from his own neck, or ripping his still-beating heart from his chest.

Too late for Lila, she’d noticed _him,_ too.

Ladybug made her way towards them unhurriedly, crossing the plush gallery in neat, measured steps. Her crimson dress gleamed beneath the spotlights, accenting her hips and her powerful legs, the black embroidery that bloomed across the bodice matching her heels and fitted gloves. Her neck and shoulders and arms were bare, a perfectly modest window of skin that nonetheless transmogrified his legs to limp spaghetti. Adrien’s heart clambered into his throat and attempted to vacate his body altogether, but he kept himself in check, swallowing moisture into his mouth.

He couldn’t screw this up. 

Any other night he could swoon over his partner and be a pining idiot to his heart's content, but _Marinette_ was counting on him to get this _right._

He opened his mouth— _be funny, be charming, be **Chat,** god, please_—but before he could speak, Lila inserted herself between them, clearly hoping to commandeer the conversation before Adrien could uncover anything incriminating.

“Ladybug, what a wonderful surprise! I still can’t thank you enough for saving me from that supervillain.” She had her best fake smile pinned to her face, her eyes glittering with fevered intent. “I’ve been dying to thank you in person, but I never expected to see you at Fashion Week. You’re certainly dressed to suit the occasion.”

No doubt the compliment came like pulling teeth, but evidently—for the first time in their fraught acquaintance—Lila was desperate for any opportunity to talk about _anyone_ other than herself.

“Hello, Lila. It certainly is a surprise.” There was something calculated in the sweep of Ladybug's eyes, though it vanished an instant later, her expression warming. “And Adrien, it's good to see you as always.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” said Adrien shyly, trying to ignore the familiar warmth that blossomed in his chest and in the pit of his stomach.

“I _love_ your dress,” said Lila fervently. “I don't suppose you'd be willing to share which designer dressed you?”

Ladybug tucked one leg behind the other and tossed her fitted skirts, showing off the intricate beading.

“I’m flattered that you like it. Actually, it was a commission from a mutual friend.” She straightened, her smile broad and brilliant. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. You’ve spoken, haven't you?”

Lila stared at her, bug-eyed with horror, while Adrien froze in incredulous delight.

Oh, no.

Oh, this was _too good._

Oh, he couldn't have set this up if he'd _tried._

“Marinette?” said Lila, hoarse with desperation. “The one in my class? From Tom and Sabine’s?”

“That’s right. She designed and sewed this for me months ago, actually. But crime-fighting doesn’t lend itself to formal wear, does it?”

“Months ago? I had no idea that the two of you were friends.” Adrien’s head spun, shock and glee and burning curiosity mingling in his gut with dizzying effect. “We’re all in the same class, actually, and she’s never claimed to know you personally.”

“Of course not,” said Ladybug slowly. “It’s been hard for her to keep it to herself, I’m sure, but it’s for her own safety and the safety of everyone around her. I would never befriend a civilian who couldn't respect such simple boundaries.”

Lila flushed with rage and humiliation, lips bitten red in her bloodless face.

All at once, a series of strange behaviors and even stranger coincidences clicked into place in Adrien's head, sliding together with seamless, jarring clarity. 

Marinette reappearing in the middle of class, red-faced and panting, flimsy excuse in hand.  
Marinette brushing off Alya’s theories at lunch, a tiny smile playing about her lips.  
Marinette tearing outside, claiming she was going to call for help, scant minutes before Ladybug arrived on the scene.  
Marinette mumbling about “a really good friend” whom she’d “met online” and “couldn’t introduce to them,” stubbornly refusing to invite them on outings no matter how often they extended the offer.

Marinette storming past him, eyes wet with fury, hands clenched into trembling fists: _She’s lying, Adrien. I know that she’s lying. I just **know.**_

Through a giddy fog of realization, the spark of an idea went off in Adrien’s head. 

“That makes perfect sense, actually. It’s just a shame she has to keep it quiet.” 

Ladybug's gaze seared into his own, and Adrien swallowed. “Marinette told me that her dream is to become a designer. Having your endorsement of her work could open up a lot of opportunities for her.”

“That’s very kind of you, Adrien.” She turned the full force of her smile towards him, and he barely managed to keep his knees from buckling. “Your friend Alya does the Ladyblog, doesn’t she? Maybe you could take a statement on her behalf. I know how hard it is to break into this industry, and it doesn’t feel right to wear my friend’s dress while denying her the chance to be credited for her work.”

“You know,” said Lila, her complexion flickering from red to purple to ghostly white, “I’m actually not feeling very well, Adrien. I hate to impose, but could you escort me to the exit? Maybe you and Ladybug could catch up another time.” 

Adrien opened his mouth to argue, but it was Ladybug who responded first—brows lowered, forehead furrowed, voice smooth as oiled silk.

“Oh, Lila, I’m so sorry. Adrien, you should definitely take your friend outside.” She produced her yo-yo from an invisible pocket and flicked open the cover, revealing the digital screen inside. “Don’t worry about the statement. I’ll record it while I’m here and send it to Alya before I leave for the night.”

Lila’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, then pinched shut like an unstitched seam. 

“We’ll go straight away, Ladybug. Thanks for taking the time to talk to us.” Adrien raised his hand in a limp little wave, distantly astonished that he was still standing upright. “I hope you have a good rest of the night.” _My lady._

As though she could hear him, her smile widened, and she cocked her head with a mischievous wink.

“I’m sure I will, now that I’ve seen you.”

Barely suppressing a giddy grin—this one little to do with _Lila_ at all—Adrien bid his partner adieu before escorting his company into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**From: Nathalie**

[09:00 PM] Adrien, your father has scheduled a slot for you at dinner 7:30 PM tomorrow. Please make sure you arrive promptly. In the interim, you are not to speak to Mademoiselle Rossi again or invite her to the house for any reason. I’ll see you in the morning.

.

**From: Nino**

[09:30 PM] holy shit bro check your messages, alya’s on the warpath  
[09:31 PM] I’m f-ing serious do it, your fake date is gonna die  
[09:35 PM] some seriously ugly shit is going down in the class chat  
[10:00 PM] are you seriously asleep already?? are you an eighty yr old man in a fifteen yr old body?? get to school early so we can talk before class ok???

.

**From: Alya**

[09: 31 PM] Adrien Agreste, call me as soon as you get home. I need to talk to you about this Ladybug footage  
[09: 40 PM] have you heard from Mari at all?? she’s not answering my texts. I called her house earlier but her mom said she was out  
[09: 43 PM] do you know where she is? call me asap if she texts you.  
[09:48 PM] I really, really have to talk to her ok?

.

**From: Alya**

[09:53 PM] don’t ignore me, Agreste. answer your damn phone.  
[09:54 PM] Please fucking tell me you didn’t know about this?? did you KNOW that lila rossi was lying to me?? 

.

**From: Alya**

[10:10 PM] CALL ME, ADRIEN or her blood will be on YOUR HANDS

  


* * *

  


Blissfully alone in his cavernous room, Adrien fished his phone from his jacket pocket and fell into the comfort of his empty bed, navigating to the Ladyblog and opening its newest update. 

His lady’s face filled the backlit screen, cheeks pink and eyes sparkling with excitement. 

“ _Bonsoir_ , Paris! It’s Ladybug, checking in live from Paris Fashion Week. I had the privilege of attending tonight’s gala on kind invitation of Mayor André Bourgeois, who is also hosting the rest of this week’s events. Sadly, Chat Noir couldn’t make it, but he sends his love to all our friends and fans.”

Her voice was so clear she could have been in the room with him, not a speck of quality lost to the constraints of their magical tech. Adrien rearranged the covers around his chest, propping the phone up against his pillow and resisting the urge to let his eyes drift shut.

“I believe his exact words were—” Ladybug snorted. _“It pains me to turn down the invite, Paris, but you’ll have to make do with my lady’s sparkling presence. As much as I wish I could be present to **whisker** off her feet, I have a prior commitment that can’t be **de-furred**. Stay **claws-y** , and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! _Ugh, that last one doesn’t even work.”

“Plagg, she remembered,” he whispered. “She said the whole thing on cam! She didn’t even take out the puns.”

His kwami’s only response was a yawn. Extracting himself from Adrien’s discarded blazer, he phased inside the nightstand drawer and emerged with a half-eaten wheel of cheese.

“Honestly, kid, you are _so_ easy to please. I’d tell you to work on it, but I’d be doing myself a disservice, because it’s at least sixty percent of what makes you so fun to screw with.”

“A few of you had questions about my outfit,” Ladybug continued, widening the shot to show off the decorative details of her gown. “I’m still transformed beneath it, but it’s a real dress! Custom created by Marinette Dupain-Cheng, whose work was worn by Adrien Agreste in _Gabriel_ ’s autumn-winter showcase. Shout out to Adrien for approaching me tonight! It was an absolute pleasure talking to you.”

“Plagg, she said it was a _pleasure._ She knows that I model! She knows who I _am!_ ” 

“Kitten, what did I _literally_ just say?”

“I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng as both a designer and a friend these past months. Thank you for your work, Marinette.” Ladybug made direct eye contact with the camera, a small smile curving her lips. “And thank you for taking me into your confidence. Your concern for my privacy and for the safety of those around you was the greatest courtesy you could have shown me.”

Signing off with a two-fingered salute, Ladybug stepped back and cut the camera. The entire video lasted less than three minutes. Lila's name was never so much as mentioned, but in light of her claim to Ladybug's friendship, the message couldn’t have been more clear.

“The video is over, Adrien. You can stop making googly eyes at your phone screen now.”

“I’m just thinking, Plagg. Don’t you think it’s weird that Ladybug never told me they know each other? I’ve rescued Marinette before. I go to the bakery all the time as Chat.” Adrien rolled over onto his back, staring at the vaulted ceiling of his bedroom. “If she really _was_ worried about keeping her safe, shouldn’t she have told me so I could keep an eye out?”

His meal finished, Plagg descended to the bed, kneading his claws into the plumpest of Adrien’s pillows.

“Maybe Marinette looks after herself better than you think,” he said slyly.

“But none of Ladybug’s patrol routes take her anywhere nearby. How did they even find the time to become friends?”

“Why don’t you just ask her when you see her at school tomorrow? Now move. You’re laying on my side of the bed.”

Adrien groaned, flopping onto his stomach as his kwami burrowed into his cheek insistently. “ _Plagg_ , you’re only a few inches tall. You don’t need an entire side.”

“Neither do you. You could always sleep on the floor.”

Awkwardly shuffling over to the far side, Adrien turned off his phone and set it on his nightstand. The lingering worry that he had missed something important circled through his skull like a restless animal, but he was far too tired to put his thoughts through their paces; the bright elation of _mischief managed_ ebbing into sheer exhaustion. 

By the time the moon rose, casting the cityscape outside his window in quicksilver light, he was fast asleep.

  


* * *

  


**From: Marinette**

[02:31 AM] I know it’s the middle of night but I think you sleep late, so um  
[02:41 AM] I’m just texting to say thanks for listening to me the other day.  
[02:45 AM] If you’re not busy, can we can talk tomorrow? On the steps after school.  
[02:45 AM] Lmk either way  
[02:50 AM] Good night, Adrien.

  


* * *

  


He slid into his seat—his _old_ seat, beside Nino—well in advance of the bell for first period. It was impossible to ignore how the classroom went quiet, all heads turning in Adrien’s direction as though an invisible string drew their eyes across the room. Avoiding the stares boring into his back, Adrien withdrew his tablet from his satchel and stacked his books on the surface of his desk.

He was pleasantly surprised when Marinette arrived as well, talking to Alya softly as they came into class together. She spared him a shy glance as he bid her good morning; and a tiny, somehow secretive smile lifted her lips as she sat down behind him.

“I brought croissants," she said, dumping her backpack onto the bench. "Do you guys want any? Papa gave me a couple extra.”

Alya and Nino exchanged swift looks, a wealth of information passing between them in the span of a single bespectacled glance. 

“Listen, Marinette, we know about Lila.” Nino leaned over the back of his seat. His voice was low, but not low enough that their eavesdropping classmates couldn’t hear him. “Everything came out in the class chat last night.”

Marinette stilled, halfway through the motion of shrugging off her overcoat.

“Nino, it’s fine. Alya already told me.”

“It’s not fine, okay? She lied about _everything._ All the people she knew, all the places she went, all the stuff she said she did in the weeks she wasn't at school.” Nino spoke evenly, but his face was steely. “I’m so sorry, Mari. We should have believed you right from the start.”

Marinette glanced at Alya, then at Nino, then at him—and Adrien nodded, swallowing hard, hoping she would read some measure of support between the lines of his open face.

After a moment, Marinette slid to the edge of the bench and propped her elbows on the desk in front of her, fidgeting with a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

“I’m sorry you guys had to find out this way. I know that Lila is your friend.”

“She’s not our fucking friend anymore,” said Alya, in a tone of voice that could splinter glass.

For the first time in weeks, Marinette’s expression eased, and the smile that flickered to her face seemed genuine. Picking up the brown paper bag on her desk, she offered it to Nino, open end first. 

“Take a croissant before class starts," she said quietly. "We had to run all the way here so they’d still be warm.”

Nino took a croissant.

Adrien reached for one as well, but Alya's interruption gave him pause.

"Adrien, you got my texts last night, right? Can the two of us maybe talk in private?"

Her nails punched crescents into the flesh of her own forearms, and her lips were sealed in a rigid line. Even doubting he was the object of her anger, Adrien found himself slightly intimidated. 

"Sure, Alya. But not right now, okay? Miss Bustier is going to be here soon."

Alya nodded, a stilted jerk of her head, and sank backwards into her seat.

Turning to face the front of the classroom, Adrien bit off the end of his pastry and spoke to Nino out of the corner of his mouth.

"That was really cool of you. Apologizing to Marinette like that."

“Read the room, dude. All of our classmates know what’s up now, but nobody wants to get up in front of the class and admit to being a gullible dick.” Nino’s expression was unusually somber. “If I do it first, maybe some of the others will start coming around.” 

Adrien hummed and took another bite.

“About that, Nino, is Lila absent? I haven't seen or heard from her since last night."

“She’s here, alright. But it doesn’t look like she’s coming to class.” Nino nodded meaningfully at the empty seat in front of them. “That stream you did with Jagged Stone? That stuff Ladybug said? Kind of a finishing move, dude. I wouldn’t want to show my face either, if I’d just been outed as a compulsive liar to every person I’d ever met.”

Tamping down the surge of unease that bubbled up in his throat like bile, Adrien bowed his head to his books.

  


* * *

  


Fifteen minutes into second period, Adrien wrote a note on a bright blue Post-it and stuck it on a worksheet as he passed it over his shoulder.

He waited five minutes, and then he raised his hand.

"Miss Bustier, could I go to my locker, please? I left my math homework inside one of my other textbooks."

"Of course, Adrien. You're excused."

The hallway was empty—as he knew it would be—and so was the locker room when he let himself inside. Adrien gave himself five minutes to loiter, humming quietly and rummaging through his satchel. Plagg was a warm lump in the pocket of his overshirt, his snores a tiny, rhythmic pulse against the clothed curve of his right-hand side.

“I know what you did, Adrien Agreste.”

There weren't _that_ many places in Collège Françoise Dupont where a student could hide when they didn't want to be found, and he’d done it frequently enough as Chat to pin down the locker room as his best bet.

Shutting his locker, he turned to face her. Lila was panting like a sprinter at a marathon, and her hands were clenched into shaky fists. She looked like she hadn’t slept well. Scratch that, she looked like she hadn’t slept _at all_. How _ludicrous_ was it that she’d skipped first period to avoid coming face to face with their classmates, only to crawl out of the woodwork the instant he was alone? 

“Hey, Lila,” he greeted her pleasantly. “What’s up? I thought you weren’t in school today.”

“Just own up to it already.” Lila was visibly trembling with anger, her lip curled back from gleaming teeth. “Just admit that the entire party was one elaborate farce to get back at me for your little girlfriend.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you _do._ ”

“Okay, look, I don’t know why you’re upset with me, but I have to get my things and head back to class.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” she exploded; spitting, snarling, her face contorted in a feral grimace. “And here I thought that _Marinette_ was annoying, but you—what the hell is _wrong_ with you? I _know_ what you’re doing, Adrien. Pretending to be nice to everyone, pretending to be nice to _me_ , when all along you were a lying, _backstabbing_ —”

“Lila, I didn't tell everyone that you were Ladybug’s best friend, or that you rescued Jagged's cat, or that you knew the most famous designers in my father’s industry. You did.” Adrien’s tone was perfectly placid as he hoisted his satchel over his shoulder. “I’ve never hurt you. I've never slandered you. The only thing I ever did to you was believe you.”

She gaped at him, and he forged on, relentless.

“Besides, you're not talking about _lying_ , are you? You’re talking about ruining people's lives for attention." The temperature of his voice dropped several degrees, and he straightened, meeting her gaze without flinching. “You really think I'm that pathetic? And here I thought you actually liked me.”

For a moment, Lila simply stood there, stunned into bug-eyed, slack-jawed silence.

Then her face turned pale with fury, and she lunged, a shriek ripping free of her throat.

Adrien braced himself a split second before her fingers fisted into the fabric of his shirt; shoving him backwards with her full strength behind it, slamming his back into the door of his locker and pinning him against it with the weight of her body.

“Oh, Adrien, you have no idea what's coming to you. You're going to regret being the _fucking_ idiot who sided with Marinette instead of me.” Her mouth split open in a vicious grin, utterly unlike every simpering smile she'd ever leveled in his direction. “You think I ruined _her_ life? Don't make me laugh. I hope you enjoyed going to _school_ and having _friends_ while it lasted, because getting your father to lock you back up is going to be easier than counting to three.”

Dimly registering the pounding of his own heartbeat, Adrien bit the inside of his cheek. 

Was _this_ the girl he’d told Marinette not to provoke? The girl who had him cringing in class, smiling and shrinking and trying not to cause a _scene_ every time she sidled up to him and stroked him like a dog? Was _this_ the girl whom Gabriel saw himself in; who had impressed him so greatly that he’d passed Adrien over like a dime cigarette at a back-alley bus stop?

Come the fuck _on._ Was this the best she could _do_? 

Because between the two of them, only one was Chat Noir. Only one was the kid who shared a house and a table with the father of the year for the third degree. Only one was the kid who’d been stalked since he hit puberty; who’d forged his father’s signature to enroll himself in school; who’d dressed in brand labels to attend his mother's wake.

Because between the two of them, only _one_ was about to win—

—and it sure as _fuck_ wasn't going to be _Lila Rossi._

And so; face hidden by the barrier of his forearms and the messy fall of his Chat Noir hair, Adrien raised his eyes to hers—

—and _winked._

  


* * *

  


_KA-CLICK._

The click of the shutter pierced the air like a gunshot, and Lila's head whipped around so quickly he half-expected to hear her neck snap.

“Hey, Alya. I didn’t hear you come in.” Adrien reached up with his empty hand and pried her fingers from the lapel of his shirt. “I think we’re pretty much done now, if you still wanted to talk.”

Lila leapt backwards as though she’d been burned, but by the look in Alya’s eyes, it was already too late. Her phone was in her hand, but she didn't seem to see it. Her usually friendly and open face was pinched at the edges like a cardboard mask, and her entire body trembled where she stood, radiating rage like nuclear heat. 

“ _You_ ,” she snarled, and Lila blanched. 

“Alya, i-it’s not what it looks like, I swear. Marinette isn’t your friend, she’s been _lying_ this whole time, trying to get everyone to think she’s the victim—”

“Don’t talk to me about _Marinette_ ,” hissed Alya, stalking forward through the empty room like a valkyrie bent on holy vengeance. Adrien flattened his back against his locker as Lila all but skittered away from him. “That’s two of my friends you’ve threatened now, and I have video proof to prove it. What is this, your fucking _dayjob?_ ”

“Alya, don’t you see what’s going on here?” Lila’s voice rose in both pitch and volume. “Adrien and Marinette have been bullying me for weeks. They’ve had it out for me ever since I moved here, they—”

“Shut _up,_ Lila. Oh my _god,_ shut _up._ I can’t believe I ever trusted you. I can’t believe I put you on my _blog._ ” Still clutching her phone in both hands, Alya advanced until she was standing between them. “I don’t want to hear anything that comes out of your mouth unless it’s an apology for treating my best friend like trash.”

Lila’s face flattened, shedding all semblance of meekness, and her mouth drew into its customary sneer. 

“Your _friend_ had it coming. I warned her what would happen. She wanted _so_ badly to get up on that cross, I barely even had to hand her the nails.”

“Is that your official stance, Mademoiselle Rossi?” Alya’s voice was sickly sweet. “Because it’d take me five minutes to send this footage to every person in the school, including the principal.”

Lila froze.

“Like, oh _man._ Chloe would probably get akumatized over it, if she doesn’t call her parents and try to sue you first. And Sabrina’s dad is a cop, you know?” Alya tapped her finger on her chin, raising her eyebrows in faux consideration. “Or, you know, I could just post it on Adrien’s fanpage.”

At _last,_ a spark of genuine fear manifested itself in Lila’s eyes. Trapped against the wall like a rabbit in a snare, she took a step backwards, knotting her fingers into her jacket. Her gaze darted in Adrien’s direction, pupils dark and enormously wide. Adrien looked back impassively, letting his silence speak for itself. 

Her throat constricted. Her tongue wet her lips.

“What do you _want_ from me, Alya?” she said at last. “Why are you doing this to me? What do you both _want_?”

“I want you to apologize to Marinette,” snapped Alya, before Adrien could get a word in edgewise. “Post in the class chat admitting that you smeared her because she tried to call you out on your _bullshit_. Do it by tonight, or I'll do it for you. ”

There was a lengthy silence, fraught with tension, broken only by the _tap-tap-tap_ of Alya’s sneaker on the tiles underfoot. 

Without answering—without raising her head to look at either of them—Lila rubbed her watering eyes and barreled forward, shoving Alya aside as she fled past the lockers and slammed the door on its squeaking hinges. 

It was Alya who spoke first, her voice wavering for the first time since they'd walked into class that morning.

“Do you think she’ll do it?”

He glanced at her from beneath his lashes. “She isn’t stupid, Alya. She knows you’re mad enough to go through with it.”

Alya turned to face him, eyes narrowed behind her brightly rimmed glasses; but even as he watched, the anger ebbed out of her, leaving her pale and shrunken with exhaustion. “Are _you_ gonna try and stop me?”

“Lila made an idiot of me at the party last night. I’m probably in for a lecture already.” Adrien shifted his gaze to the ground between his feet. “I think I’ll stay out of it, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Sure, Adrien.” Alya opened her fist to reveal the crumpled remains of his note. “That’s totally the reason you pretended not to see me, even though you were the one who said to follow you out here.”

Docile as a dormouse, Adrien shrugged. 

Alya’s eyes narrowed further, but she didn’t push the issue. Tucking her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, she slumped against the lockers, dragging her fingers down her cheeks. 

“All Mari told me was that she and Lila didn’t get along,” she mumbled. “I had no idea she was dealing with _anything_ like this. Not just from Lila, but from everyone else, too. I’ve been such a shitty fucking friend.”

“No worse than me, to be perfectly honest.”

“Yeah? At least you were on her side from the start.” Alya glanced away, her voice subdued. “You’re not as clueless as you try to look, Adrien. You knew that _something_ was going on.” 

“I knew that Lila was a liar,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t know she was dangerous until Marinette let slip that she tried to threaten her.”

“Yeah, she told me. I said that I believed her, obviously. I said I’d never let anyone tell lies about her to my face.” Alya pressed her hand to her mouth, her shoulders heaving as her voice began to shake. “But this has been going on for _months_ , Adrien. _Months_ of people I thought were my friends stabbing her in the back and thinking I was _fine_ with it. And there I was, trying to reassure her, while a tiny part of me thought she was making it all up because she was too embarrassed to admit she started drama over nothing.”

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her chin, visible for only an instant before she buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I didn’t see what was going on. I feel like _shit._ ”

Adrien closed the distance between them and set his hand on Alya’s elbow. A rustling inside his shirt told him that Plagg was awake—probably soaking in the commotion from the relative safety of Adrien’s pocket—but he had the good sense to keep himself hidden as long as Alya was still in the room.

“Look, I should have realized, too. I didn't know it was so bad with the rest of the class.” A familiar pang of guilt dug its claws into his belly, and he shook his head, doing his best not to indulge it. “I should have tried harder to make sure that she was okay.”

“I liked your party trick last night. Pretty scorched-earth, for what it's worth." Alya cracked a vindictive smile, scrubbing away the tears that had dried to her cheeks. “I barely even got my swing in. Guess I'll make it up to Marinette later.”

“She asked me to meet her on the steps after school. We could probably go and see her together?"

Enlightenment flickered across Alya’s face, and her smile broadened for a brief instant before she shook her head. 

“Not this time. I think she wants to talk to you alone.” There was something knowing in her tone, and if he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought he was being teased. “I better head back to class, Adrien. Leave a minute after me so Miss Bustier doesn’t get suspicious.”

Once Alya’s footsteps had faded down the hallway, Plagg spoke up from inside his overshirt, the sleepy rumble of his voice tempered with no small amount of smugness. 

“Ding, dong. The witch is dead.”

“Plagg,” he chided, without any real force behind it. 

“What? There’s no knowing what Lila would’ve done if you’d left her to her own devices.” Poking his head out of Adrien’s collar, Plagg bumped the top of his head against his chin. “What if you'd been kidnapped and locked in an ivory tower? Or turned into stone at the sight of her hideous visage? Who would feed me, Adrien? Who would be my Chat Noir?”

Rolling his eyes, Adrien swept his kwami back inside his shirt and broke into a run towards Miss Bustier’s classroom.

  


* * *

  


As usual, Marinette was the first one outside when the bell rang. This time, however, Adrien hurried after her, haphazardly shoving school supplies into his satchel before bolting from the classroom and out through the front doors. 

The steps were still deserted; but as Adrien lingered, scanning the curb and the adjacent road, a whispered voice came from the bushes to his left.

“Over here.”

A hand grabbed his wrist, and then he was running. They took off down the tree-lined sidewalk together, Marinette’s grip surprisingly firm as her shoes kicked dust from the sun-baked pavement. 

“So,” she panted, when they finally came to a stop. “I won’t take up too much of your time, but I thought we should probably talk about last night. And I uh, assume that you have questions. Plus I maybe _also_ have questions, about those videos you posted with Lila, and whether it was maybe...maybe to do with everything I— _auuugh._ ”

Marinette let go of his hand, clearly having lost control of her words. Taking advantage of the handful of seconds it took for her to catch her breath, Adrien straightened, blurting out the first phrase that came to mind. 

“I’m sorry, Marinette.”

That startled her into looking at him, her eyes wide and guileless with surprise.

“What?”

“I’m sorry that I told you not to say anything to Lila. I’m sorry that I let things get this bad. I’m sorry I said that she wasn’t hurting anyone by doing it, when she was actually hurting you all this time.” The words came out in a disjointed rush, accompanied by the first easy breath he’d drawn in days. “I should have known better.”

“Oh—oh, no—oh, Adrien, this isn’t your fault.” She was stammering, tying herself in knots to reassure him, worried about _his_ feelings in the face of all she’d been through. “Lila is smart, you know? Smart enough not to drag me through the mud in front of anyone who might disagree. And it wouldn’t have been fair to make you guys choose between hanging out with our class and hanging out with me.” 

She smiled, shy and hopeful and brilliant, earnestness shining out of her like light through a silk screen.

“Believe me, Adrien, I’m totally fine now. It was—the whole thing was stupid from the beginning.”

“Nobody thinks it’s stupid, Marinette.” He stepped a little closer to her; itching to brush his fingers against her shoulder, her arm, her cheek. “You should have seen Alya when the ball finally dropped. I was nearly an accessory to murder, you know that?”

He could tell that Marinette was trying hard not to smile, but her lips twitched upwards nonetheless.

“Somehow I doubt that Lila’s reputation agrees with your claim to innocence, Agreste.”

“Ouch, Mari. I’m the nicest boy in town.”

“You don’t need to tell me _that_ ,” she said, and the teasing undercurrent in her voice was at once strange and exhilaratingly familiar. 

As he stood there, trying to place his finger on the niggling feeling that had chased him all day, Marinette reached into her backpack and produced a familiar monogrammed notebook, opening it at a bookmarked page and removing a sheaf of stapled papers. 

“I want you to have this,” she said gently. “I’ll be doing a lot more design now that Ladybug has endorsed me publically, but it means a lot to me that you asked on my behalf.”

Adrien turned the first page slowly, words drying up in the wasteland of his mouth. Fluid lines and precise shadows coalesced upon the page into a familiar figure: her curves encased in crimson silk, her sleek black hair pinned back from her face or coiled loosely around her shoulders. Some of the designs were clearly unfinished, streaked with eraser marks and crossed out in ink. Some had been modified, sketched and resketched; measurements marching up and down the margins in Marinette’s familiar messy hand.

 _Oh._

On the second page, Ladybug’s graceful silhouette was joined by a boy in black and silver. His green eyes and messy blonde hair were the only color in his stark silhouette, and she’d left his hair unstyled, sticking out in all directions. The outfits varied from a dramatically flared coat to a tailored jacket with leather panels, lime green piping and bright silver accents lending glamor to clothes that could still be considered formal. 

**_Oh._ **

The last page featured two figures side by side, polished to the quality of final designs. One was Ladybug in the red gown she’d worn last night. The other was Chat in a fitted tailcoat with silver buttons and green silk lining. His feet were clad in polished leather boots, and matching gloves adorned his hands. The final touch was the bright red rose that winked from the lapel of his tailored vest, matching the color of Ladybug’s dress. 

Next to his right foot, small enough to be missed at first glance, were two signatures in matching blue ink. One was Marinette’s—he recognized it easily enough from the album she’d autographed. The other, he supposed, was meant to be Ladybug’s; its looping letters and embellished capitals matching the valentine he kept hidden in his desk.

Same ink. Same letters. Same spacing. Same hand. 

Oh, thought Adrien.

Oh. 

_Oh._

**_Oh._ **

“Adrien? Is it okay? It's just a couple of sketches, but—”

“I love it,” he rasped, barely managing to get the words out at all around the tight ball of emotion lodged in his throat. He could feel his hands trembling, his lungs losing air, his face flushing red from his neck to his hairline. He couldn’t hold back. He didn’t _want_ to hold back. So he simply stood there, ticking like a time bomb, control slipping away from him in inches and increments as _his lady_ stared up at him with growing concern.

“Sorry,” he choked. “Sorry, it’s just—I really, really love it.”

Marinette blinked, and then she blushed, and then she _smirked._ He _knew_ that smirk, and the heady combination of that _mouth_ and those _eyes_ and that _smile_ struck scintillating sparks into the corners of his vision. His ribcage cracked open, leaking heartbeats like history; and Adrien let it happen, let _everything_ happen, let every realization of the past twenty-four hours smash the blinkers from his eyes in a tsunami of recognition.

“I take it you’re a big fan, huh?” She couldn't have sounded more smug if she'd _tried_.

“The biggest,” he replied, in a voice thick with tenderness. “Who wouldn’t be, when it comes to you, Marinette?”

All signs of pride fled her face in an instant, and her cheeks flamed crimson until they matched the hue of her coat. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, taking a step backwards on unsteady legs. 

“Eheh, well, you’re probably dying to get picked up by now. By your _driver_ , I mean. In your car. To go back to your house, where you presumably, um, live.” She chuckled, high-pitched, her face darkening further. “I’m glad you liked the gift! I’ll be sure to pass it on! Thanksforeverythingitwassupernicetalkingtoyou I’llseeyouatschooltomorrow okayI’mgoingnow _bye_.”

And with that, she was gone, bolting down the street in the opposite direction to her house as though the sidewalk had caught fire beneath the soles of her feet. Adrien watched her disappear around the block, clutching the strap of his satchel for support as the concrete see-sawed wildly beneath him.

"Oh my god," he croaked.

" _Welp_ , would you look at that. The stars and your synapses have finally aligned, and the day of reckoning is upon us at last." Plagg phased out of his pocket and zipped up to his shoulder, hooking his claws through the threads of his jacket. "Alright, lover boy. Let's find someplace to sit before your radiant blush starts to hold up traffic." 

Adrien slid to the ground where he stood, his rear hitting the pavement with a muffled thump.

“Okay,” said Plagg slowly. “Half points for effort.”

"Oh my _god_ ,” said Adrien, drawing his knees to his chest and hiding his burning face in his hands. He was starting to attract stares from passerby, and somebody would probably take his picture if he lolled about in public much longer, but he’d never cared less about _literally anything_ in the history of _pretty much everything, ever_. "Oh my fucking god, _Marinette._ "

"Pretty sure she’s an earthly being, but yep! Marinette.”

“I thought I was so sneaky, Plagg. I thought I was so _smart_ handling Lila the way I did, but Marinette had a plan in place from the start." Adrien spoke quietly enough that nobody else could hear him, his voice cracking with barely contained mirth. "'Wow, Adrien! Thank you so much for keeping an eye out for our _mutual acquaintance_ , Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. What a stroke of luck that we’re both best friends with your super pretty, super talented classmate!’ Oh, buginette. Oh, my _lady._ "

Abandoning his efforts to nudge him into a slightly less catatonic position, Plagg shuffled closer to his face and curled against the crook of his neck and shoulder. 

“You see, kid? None of this would have happened if you hadn't taken my advice at face value. Now Lila is finished, your friends are together, and there's nothing to stop you from using your body as a roadblock until Marinette trips face-first onto your lips.” 

Adrien unfolded the sketches from his chest and tucked them inside his tablet case, smoothing the delicate papers as though they were made from hammered gold. 

“Fine,” he said. “ _Fine._ I’m glad I let you corrupt me, just this once.”

“Good," said Plagg, clambering upwards into his hair. “Who knew that being a spiteful little shit could be so rewarding? _I_ did, kitten, and you’re _welcome_.”

Feet as light as summer air, excitement fizzing inside his chest like bubbles of the sweetest champagne, Adrien scrambled up off the sidewalk and ran on sunlight all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, people. When I posted the first chapter of this, I was expecting ten comments if I got lucky, not the 70+ I received in the first 24 hours. I absolutely cannot overstate how much I enjoyed reading (and re-reading!) each and every one of your responses. I hope you enjoyed this tooth-rotting follow-up as much as I enjoyed emptying my salt shaker onto y'all's plates. Cheers!


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